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Knowing I'm on a short fuse, he puts his hands up in defense. "Don't look at me like that; you know I was close to her. She's like the sister I always wanted my brother to be." Snake snorts at his words, but my anger heightens because he gets to hear her voice and I don't.
"She seems happy, Doc. She loves her new job and has made some friends. You need to let her go, brother. You chose Prue; you gave her your cut, you publicly claimed her in front of Ken, and you didn't even warn her. You took the pussy way out, and you know you did, brother." Sniper shakes his head and sighs, while I shout in my head that she isn't fucking happy, that I had to do it that way.
Snake questions, "Brother?" Sniper looks at his blood brother, giving him a sad smile.
"She's cutting us all off."
I stand, knocking my chair over, my eyes going to my dad, who silently tells me to try and stay calm as Sniper says, "She wants nothing to do with us, the club, her parents, or Lola." He swallows hard. "She blocked my number last week. She's done with this part of her life."
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I have her new number, but they don't fucking know that.
Playing the part, I admit as I grip my hair, "I don't even fucking know if Prue was pregnant to begin with, let alone 'miscarried’. I just needed some fucking time to figure shit out!"
Snake snaps, "What the fuck, Lucas? You're a doctor. How in the hell do you not know if she miscarried? Weren't you fucking there? She was nineteen weeks pregnant, so she would have had to give birth, right?"
I wince. Fuck when he finds out the truth, he's going to fucking shoot me, then bury me with that fucker Nick.
I shake my head and say, "I've never seen proof. She was gaining weight, and her stomach was rounding a little, but she never let me check it out myself. She was supposed to be roughly four months pregnant, but I hadn't been to one appointment or scan. She brought the scan photo to me, and I was fucking floored. She said she was just too excited to wait. When she 'lost' the baby, she said she gave birth at home and buried it in the cemetery in her hometown, four hours away, but refused to tell me where, and blamed my feelings for Ken as the reason why she miscarried. Tech couldn't find anything in her medical records about a pregnancy or her giving birth, and each time I bring it up, she gets suicidal. She's still fucking living in my apartment in town."
And that is the truth. She wants me in her bed because knows if she ends up knocked up for real, she can't claim me as the father. I've been trying to find out exactly where she was staying when all this shit started, because maybe, just fucking perhaps, that's where the proof is.
I need to kill the bitch and bring my girl home.
Snake narrows his eyes at me. "So basically, she's holding a barrel over your head."
I give him a sharp nod and admit, "She keeps trying to get me to fuck her, wanting to 'try again,' but I won't. I haven't touched her since before she came back and said she was pregnant. I haven't touched any woman."
The brother's growl, and Snake points at me. "You need to sort yourself out, brother; you and Tech need to do some more digging, deeper this time. Prue knew your feelings for Ken; she's worked for us for a while. Something doesn't fucking sit right here."
I nod and rasp, "Kennedy."I’m worried for her safety, ready to fully admit everything, but Sniper interrupts.
"I'll keep trying to get through to her. She can't block every number I use. In the meantime, let's get to the bottom of this shit, brother; you have no chance of winning her back if Prue is still in the picture."
I look at Dad, who sighs but shakes his head, knowing we need more time, and with that, I zone out the rest of church.
I need my fucking girl back.
10
Kennedy
“I like the blue,” Austen says as he wraps his arm over my shoulders, guiding me away from the hospital.
I look at him and smile. He’s cute in a rugged kind of way. He’s full of tattoos and piercings but sweet, with his piercing blue eyes and black hair. He’s roughly 5”11, so he's definitely taller than my 5’4”, and treats me well.
We met through Kale, my tattoo artist, and have been dating for about two months.
I clear my throat. “I fancied a little change.”
He sends me a blinding smile, squeezing me to him and admits, “It suits you.”
I decided to dip-dye my hair blue on a whim, and I must admit, I like it, too.
“So, when is your next weekend off? I thought maybe we could go away,” he asks, guiding me around the people on the sidewalk.
I swallow hard. I like Austen, I do, and he’s a great kisser, but I don’t feel a connection. I don’t get the tingly sensation or the sparks when he touches me. Instead, I feel icky and dirty. He knows I have issues; Kale made sure Austen knew I was hurt in some way, and we decided to be casual and take it slow. I know he sees others, but it doesn’t hurt me, especially when we haven’t been intimate, not going past kissing, while, well, I just call the one number I know I shouldn’t, listening to his day, hearing his pain.
